Let us talk it over very quietly, said the healer of souls, trying to manoeuvre her into the deep armchair. She was fidgety, however, and perched herself upon the corner of his desk. I don't know if you think there is anything in dreams, she said. But this was such an extraordinary one.
I dreamed I came up to your door, and there was your name on it, just as it is out there. That's how it was I came to look you up in the telephone book, and there it was again. So I felt I just had to come and see you.
Well, I dreamed I came into your office, and I was sitting here on the desk, just like this, talking to you, and all of a sudden of course I know it was only a dream I felt a feeling well, really I hardly know how to tell you. It seemed to me as if you were my father, my big brother, and a boy I once knew called Herman Myers, all rolled into one. I don't know how I could feel like that, even in a dream, for I am engaged to a young man I love with all my conscious mind, and I thought with my unconscious, too. Oh, it's awful of me!
My dear young lady, purred the psychiatrist, this is nothing more or less than the phenomenon of transference. It is something which can happen to anybody, and usually it does.
Yes, said she, but it made me transfer myself to your knee, like this, and put my arms around your neck, like this.
Now! now! murmured the psychiatrist gently, I'm afraid you are acting out a neurotic impulse.
I always act things out, she said. They say it makes me the life and soul of a party. But, Doctor, then I happened to look out of the window, like this, and . . . Wow! There he is! There he was! It was Charlie! Oh, what a terrible look he gave us as he went by!
MARY
There was in those days I hope it is there still a village called Ufferleigh, lying all among the hills and downs of North Hampshire. In every cottage garden there was a giant apple tree, and when these trees were hung red with fruit, and the newly lifted potatoes lay gleaming between bean-row and cabbage-patch, a young man walked into the village who had never been there before.
He stopped in the lane just under Mrs. Hedges's gate, and looked up into her garden. Rosie, who was picking the beans, heard his tentative cough, and turned and leaned over the hedge to hear what he wanted. I was wondering, said he if there was anybody in the village who had a lodging to let
He looked at Rosie, whose cheeks were redder than the apples, and whose hair was the softest yellow imaginable. I was wondering, said he in amendment, if you had.
Rosie looked back at him. He wore a blue jersey such as seafaring men wear, but he seemed hardly like a seafaring man. His face was brown and plain and pleasant, and his hair was black. He was shabby and he was shy, but there was something about him that made it very certain he was not just a tramp. I'll ask, said Rosie.
With that she ran for her mother, and Mrs. Hedges came out to interview the young man. I've got to be near Andover for a week, said he, but somehow I didn't fancy staying right in the town.
There's a bed, said Mrs. Hedges. If you don't mind having your meals with us
Why, surely, ma'am, said he. There's nothing I'd like better.
Everything was speedily arranged; Rosie picked another handful of beans, and in an hour he was seated with them at supper. He told them his name was Fred Baker, but, apart from that, he was so polite that he could hardly speak, and in the end Mrs. Hedges had to ask him outright what his business was. Why, ma'am, said he, looking her straight in the face, I've done one thing and another ever since I was so high, but I heard an old proverb once, how to get on in the world. 'Feed 'em or amuse 'em,' it said. So that's what I do, ma'am. I travel with a pig.
Mrs. Hedges said she had never heard of such a thing.
You surprise me, said he. Why, there are some in London, they tell me, making fortunes on the halls. Spell, count, add up, answer questions, anything. But let them wait, said he, smiling, till they see Mary.
Is that the name of your pig? asked Rosie.
Well, said Fred, shyly, it's what I call her just between ourselves like. To her public, she's Zola. Sort of Frenchified, I thought. Spicy, if you'll excuse the mention of it. But in the caravan I call her Mary.
You live in a caravan? cried Rosie, delighted by the doll's-house idea.
We do, said he. She has her bunk, and I have mine.
I don't think I should like that, said Mrs. Hedges. Not a pig. No.
She's as clean, said he, as a new-born babe. And as for company, well, you'd say she's human. All the same, it's a bit of wandering life for her up hill and down dale, as the saying goes. Between you and me I shan't be satisfied till I get her into one of these big London theatres. You can see us in the West End!
I should like the caravan best, said Rosie, who seemed to have a great deal to say for herself, all of a sudden.
It's pretty, said Fred. Curtains, you know. Pot of flowers. Little stove. Somehow I'm used to it. Can't hardly think of myself staying at one of them big hotels. Still, Mary's got her career to think of. I can't stand in the way of her talent, so that's that
Is she big? asked Rosie.
It's not her size, said he. No more than Shirley Temple. It's her brains and personality. Clever as a wagonload of monkeys! You'd like her. She'd like you, I reckon. Yes, I reckon she would. Sometimes I'm afraid I'm a bit slow by way of company for her, never having had much to do with the ladies.
Don't tell me, said Mrs. Hedges archly, as convention required.
'Tis so, ma'am, said he. Always on the move, you see, ever since I was a nipper. Baskets and brooms, pots and pans, then some acrobat stuff, then Mary. Never two days in the same place. It don't give you the time to get acquainted.
You're going to be here a whole week, though, said Rosie artlessly, but at once her red cheeks blushed a hundred times redder than before, for Mrs. Hedges gave her a sharp look, which made her see that her words might have been taken the wrong way.
Fred, however, had noticed nothing. Yes, said he, I shall be here a week. And why? Mary ran a nail in her foot in the marketplace, Andover. Finished her act and collapsed. Now she's at the vet's, poor creature.
Oh, poor thing! cried Rosie.
I was half afraid, said he, it was going wrong on her. But it seems she'll pull round all right, and I took opportunity to have the van repaired a bit, and soon we'll be on the road again. I shall go in and see her tomorrow. Maybe I can find some blackberries, to take her by way of a relish, so to speak.
Gorsley Bottom, said Rosie. That's the place where they grow big and juicy.
Ah! If I knew where it was said Fred tentatively.
Perhaps, in the morning, if she's got time, shell show you, said Mrs. Hedges, who began to feel very kindly disposed toward the young man.
In the morning, surely enough, Rosie did have time, and she showed Fred the place, and helped him pick the berries. Returning from Andover, later in the day, Fred reported that Mary had tucked into them a fair treat, and he had little doubt that, if she could have spoken, she would have sent her special thanks. Nothing is more affecting than the gratitude of a dumb animal, and Rosie was impelled to go every morning with Fred to pick a few more berries for the invalid pig.
On these excursions Fred told her a great deal more about Mary, a bit about the caravan, and a little about himself. She saw that he was very bold and knowing in some ways, but incredibly simple and shy in others. This, she felt, showed he had a good heart.